


changes

by novoaa1



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: F/F, POV Jean Grey, Post-X-Men: Apocalypse (2016), Telepathy, drabble ish, u know how it be, will add more tags later, xmen gays being gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:41:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24171490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/novoaa1/pseuds/novoaa1
Summary: It helps, she finds—focusing on the good.For example: she doesn’t feel like a freak anymore. That’s new, and the farthest thing from unwelcome.Scott and Kurt walk her to class, Ororo bakes chocolate-chip-and-M&M cookies with her in the dark of night when neither of them can sleep, and Peter zips around her 24/7, poking her and stealing her things (only to eventually give them back, of course, once he’s had his fun) like he isn’t afraid to get his brain scrambled in retaliation… like he isn’t afraid ofJean.They’re all like that with her—normal.She’d never known what that felt like before them, before a goofy quartet of analogous mutants like herself (deemed “freaks” by those who fear what they do not understand) came along, poking her and prodding her and forming bonds like it was the farthest thing from unusual—she’d never known that there was something more to this life than fear and isolation, not until them. Not until the X-Men.Not untilher.Or: Jean Grey meets Wanda Maximoff.
Relationships: Jean Grey & Ororo Munroe, Jean Grey & Scott Summers & Kurt Wagner, Jean Grey/Wanda Maximoff, Wanda Maximoff & Peter Maximoff
Comments: 2
Kudos: 43





	changes

**Author's Note:**

> never written for x-men before BUT i went on a whole binge adn watched all the movies except logan 
> 
> and idk if i'm gonna do more but i thought this would be a cool idea

Things are strange, after the end of the world, after the apocalypse detonates in Cairo and Magneto rips every shred of metal from the ground until he doesn’t and Jean feels herself explode from the inside out as a burning phoenix in the skies above—or at least, that’s what they tell her. 

Truthfully, Jean doesn’t remember all that much about it. 

It comes back in pieces, sometimes, and only when she’s asleep. 

These days, she rather prefers not to sleep entirely, if she can help it.

It’s an improvisational system that really only works until it doesn’t, resulting in as long as 80-hour stretches spent wide awake followed directly by explosive (emotionally, not physically—thank God) crashes that place her under a coma-like state of unconsciousness for a solid 10 hours or so before the nightmarish remembrance becomes too much for her to bear and she startles awake in a flurry of panic, doomed to repeat the same sordid cycle without a foreseeable end in sight. 

It strains her both mentally and physically, often to what she believes is truly her irrevocable limit, only to prove her wrong yet again—because, as it turns out, her threshold for unrest, for pain, for _insanity_ stretches far beyond her own imaginings; she’s still yet to decide whether that’s a good thing or not. 

If there’s one good thing that came out of Armageddon, though, Jean would definitely pick her new friends—Scott, Peter, Ororo, Kurt… Raven and Hank, too, she supposes, though they’re more authoritative figures to her than anything else. 

It helps, she finds—focusing on the good. 

For example: she doesn’t feel like a freak anymore. That’s new, and the farthest thing from unwelcome. 

Scott and Kurt walk her to class, Ororo bakes chocolate-chip-and-M&M cookies with her in the dark of night when neither of them can sleep, and Peter zips around her 24/7, poking her and stealing her things (only to eventually give them back, of course, once he’s had his fun) like he isn’t afraid to get his brain scrambled in retaliation… like he isn’t afraid of _Jean_.

They’re all like that with her— _normal_.

She’d never known what that felt like before them, before a goofy quartet of analogous mutants like herself (deemed “freaks” by those who fear what they do not understand) came along, poking her and prodding her and forming bonds like it was the farthest thing from unusual—she’d never known that there was something more to this life than fear and isolation, not until them. Not until the X-Men. 

Not until _her_.

— — 

Jean meets her on a Tuesday—the sun shines brilliantly overhead, the birds are chirping obnoxiously from the well-groomed trees, and Jean is just leaving her course on Quantum Physics (taught by none other than Professor McCoy) when she stops herself just short before she runs (quite literally) into a pretty green-eyed girl with chestnut-brown hair, a strong psychic presence and a number of curious silver rings adorning slim pale fingers on either hand. 

To make the situation all the more bizarre, Peter Maximoff is with her, standing resolutely at her side as if he knows her, though Jean barely notices. 

She sends out a mental message on a whim even as she finds herself very nearly lost in eyes of olive-green, those which blink curiously back up at her without a trace of ill intent to be seen… rather, all Jean can find on her features (gorgeous as they are) and her foremost thoughts (what little of them she can manage to access) present in majority as nothing other than innocuous curiosity, awe. _You’re like me_.

“Yes,” the slightly shorter girl answers immediately out loud, a heavy Slavic accent coloring her silken tone. “I did not think—"

“Wanda,” Peter interjects in a pouty whine, flicking her on a red-leather-jacket-clad shoulder. “No psychic stuff around someone who _can’t_ read minds, remember?”

“Forgive me, brother,” she apologizes, sounding genuinely chastised as she lowers her chin bashfully—her beautiful green-eyed gaze doesn’t stray from Jean’s, though, and Jean likes that. 

“‘Brother’?” Jean questions then, flicking a questioning gaze briefly over to Peter. 

Peter shoves his hands into the pockets of his silver-painted jeans, ducking his head and mumbling something unintelligible. 

The girl—Wanda—nudges him with her elbow. “Be polite.”

Peter huffs at that, but doesn’t return with some biting (but humorous) quip at Wanda’s insistence like he would with Jean or Scott or… anyone else, really. “She’s my twin, okay?”

Jean quirks a single brow—in her mind’s eye, she wonders why it is that Wanda is only now making an appearance, after Peter has been affiliated with the X-Men for a good half year now… still, she knows it’d be impolite to question it (not to mention, none of her business), and she dutifully bites her tongue. 

And yet, it seems that Wanda has no intention of letting Jean’s curiosity go unsatisfied: “She’s wondering why you didn’t introduce me earlier, brother,” she intones with a bemused smirk, ringed fingers fidgeting absentmindedly with the relatively short (only barely reaching mid-thigh) hem of her simple black sundress. 

Jean feels her cheeks flush. “I—Yes, but it’s really none of my business, and—"

“Oh, this is _so_ not my fault,” Peter interjects, gesturing vaguely about with one hand whilst the other remains stubbornly shoved in his jean pocket, hazelnut-brown eyes coming up to meet Jean's. “See, _she_ ” he emphasizes the word with a pronounced gesture towards the smirking green-eyed girl beside him, "was off with the _Avengers_ for, like, the last two years, cooking paprika and flirting with a toaster oven—"

“Peter, you can’t cook paprika,” Wanda argues back exasperatedly, “and I was not _flirting_ with—"

“The toaster oven?”

“Android.”

“Oh, ‘cause that makes it _so_ much better—"

“We didn’t even _date_ , you doofus—"

“But there was some light flirting, wasn’t there?”

“He’s asexual,” Wanda deadpans then, rolling her eyes. 

“Just because you didn’t bone, doesn’t mean—"

“No.”

“No?”

“No, there was no ‘light flirting,’ Peter. In fact, there was no flirting at _all_. We were a little busy.”

At that, Peter turns to a rather taken aback Jean, seemingly oblivious to her astonishment as he jerks a thumb towards his sister and questions: “Is she lying? I can’t always tell.”

Jean blanches. “Um, I don’t really think—“

“A-ha!” he exclaims triumphantly before Jean has a chance to finish, nudging his sister playfully. “She thinks you’re lying.”

“That is _not_ what I said—"

“Wasn’t it, though?”

Jean sighs exhaustedly, pinching the bridge of her nose. “No.”

“Well, the fact still remains—“

“One more word, and I blast you through the roof,” Jean grumbles, shooting him a glare. 

Peter promptly gulps down whatever he was about to say, even as Wanda giggles adoringly at his side. 

“Peter,” she coos, elbowing her twin once more with a conspiratorial grin in Jean’s direction (the warmth of it nearly has Jean melting on the spot). “I _like_ this girl!”

— —


End file.
